Heir to Sevenwaters

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Also by Juliet Marillier

  THE SEVENWATERS TRILOGY

  Daughter of the Forest

  Son of the Shadows

  Child of the Prophecy

  Wolfskin

  Foxmask

  THE BRIDEI CHRONICLES

  The Dark Mirror

  Blade of Fortriu

  The Well of Shades

  For young adults:

  Wildwood Dancing

  Cybele’s Secret

  ROC

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,

  Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,

  Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,

  New Delhi - 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,

  New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,

  Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, November 2008

  Copyright © Juliet Marillier, 2008

  eISBN : 978-1-440-60888-9

  Sevenwaters Family Tree by Gage Godfrey-Nicholls of Inklings Calligraphy Studio

  (www.inklings.com.au)

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  In memory of my mother,

  Dorothy Scott (Johnston)

  December 1911-July 2007.

  All her life she practiced selfless love.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book could not have been what it is without the assistance of my family. I thank Ben for brainstorming the original story with me, and Elly and Simon for reading the manuscript and helping me with plotting. My writers’ group gave me useful feedback along the way and kept me working through the difficult patches.

  I’m immensely grateful to the three editors who have worked on the book: Brianne Tunnicliffe at Pan Macmillan Australia, Anne Sowards at Roc, and Stefanie Bierwerth at Tor UK. Heartfelt thanks to Gage Godfrey-Nicholls for her beautiful Sevenwaters family tree. A special thank-you to my Australian copyeditor, Julia Stiles, for an excellent job. Cate Paterson at Pan Macmillan has continued to be a source of great support.

  My agent, Russell Galen, has assisted me during the planning and writing of this book with his usual blend of professionalism and common sense.

  Heir to Sevenwaters is dedicated to my mother, who died in mid-2007. Mum, thank you for reading my handwritten childhood sagas with such patience, and for always saying nice things about them! Thank you for teaching me the value of storytelling. You encouraged me to dream.

  CHARACTER LIST

  CHAPTER 1

  My fingers numb with cold, I fastened a length of gold-embroidered ribbon around the hawthorn and murmured a prayer to whatever spirits might be listening. “When it’s time for the baby to be born, please don’t let my mother die.” Another ribbon, higher up in branches burgeoning with spring’s fresh green. “And please let the child be healthy.” A third, slipped between twigs that scratched my skin, drawing bright blood. “And if you can, make it be a boy. Mother wants a son more than anything in the world.”

  I thrust my hands back into my sheepskin mittens and closed my eyes a moment to gather my thoughts. The lone hawthorn, which stood in a clearing within the great forest of Sevenwaters, was hung about with many offerings: ribbons, laces, scraps of wool and strings of wooden beads. Such solitary thorns were known to be gathering places for spirits. Until my mother had grown so heavy with child that she could no longer walk here safely, she had come every day with a token to place on the tree and a prayer that she might at long last be granted a healthy son. Now I carried out the ritual in her place.

  It was time to head for home again. My sister was getting married in the morning and I had a lot to do. Deirdre and I were twins. She was slightly my elder, but I was the one who had inherited the household responsibilities Mother was too tired to deal with any longer. It made sense. Deirdre was going. Tomorrow afternoon she and her new husband, Illann, would be riding back to his home in the south and she would have her own household to manage. I was staying. For the foreseeable future my life would be taken up with supervising serving people, ordering and checking supplies, solving domestic disputes and keeping an eye on my two youngest sisters, Sibeal and Eilis. I hadn’t expected this, but then, nobody had expected Mother to conceive another child so late in life. Now we were all on edge. Mother called this a gift from the gods. The rest of us tiptoed around the subject, fearful of speaking the unpalatable truth. Women of her age did not deliver healthy babes. Like as not, within two turnings of the moon she and the child would both be dead.

  “Thank you,” I said over my shoulder as I walked away from the hawthorn and into the shade of the forest. It was best to keep on the good side of the Fair Folk, whatever one’s opinion of them. The forest of Sevenwaters was as much their home as it was ours. Long ago, our family had been entrusted with the task of keeping the place safe for them. This was one of the last refuges of the ancient races anywhere in Erin, for the great forests were being felled for grazing and the Christian religion had spread widely, displacing druids and wise women. The
old faith was practiced only in the most protected and secret pockets of the land. Sevenwaters was one of these.

  The path home wound its way through dense oak woods before descending to the lake shore. On another day I’d have enjoyed going slowly, drinking in the myriad shades of green, the delicate music of birdsong, the dappled light on the forest floor. Today I must make haste, for by nightfall our house would be full of guests and a long list of tasks lay before me. I owed it to my parents to ensure the domestic arrangements went as smoothly as if Mother herself were supervising them. I knew Father would have preferred Deirdre’s wedding to be later, perhaps in the autumn, and not just because Mother was so frail right now. But once Illann had set eyes on my twin he’d wanted to marry her without delay, and Father had judged the alliance to be too valuable to be put at risk by insisting they wait. Illann was a chieftain of the southern Uí Néill and a close kinsman of the High King. It was the kind of match people called brilliant. Fortunately, Deirdre seemed to like Illann almost as much as he liked her. She’d been bubbling with excitement since the day she first met him.

  The oaks towered over me, their mossy boles glowing in the filtered sunlight. My feet were quiet on the soft earth of the forest path. Between the trees, on the very edge of sight, moved evanescent beings, gossamer fine, shadow swift. In the rich litter of debris that lay around the roots of the great oaks tiny creatures stirred, scuttling, creaking, whispering. The forest of Sevenwaters was home to many. Badger, deer and hare, beetle, warbler and dragonfly lived side by side with the more otherworldly inhabitants of the wood. It would be strange for Deirdre to leave all this. Her new husband’s holding, Dun na Ri, shared a border with the southwestern part of Father’s land, but I knew nowhere could be like Sevenwaters.

  As soon as I got back to the house I would make sure my younger sisters had their gowns ready for tonight’s feast. I’d find an opportunity to speak with Father alone so I could see how he was; I knew Mother’s tiredness was troubling him. I hoped I could reassure him. And I’d ease Mother’s mind by letting her know that everything was under control. I should speak to my two druid uncles as soon as they arrived. Conor needed to be asked if the plans for tomorrow’s spring ritual and hand-fasting suited him. Ciarán would want a place to retreat to. He came to our home quite often to work with Sibeal on druidic lore, for she would almost certainly join that community herself in a few years’ time. Tutoring his young student in the garden or in the peace and quiet of an isolated chamber was one thing; facing a house full of visitors was quite another. Ciarán was acutely uncomfortable with crowds. Besides, he sometimes brought his raven with him. Folk found the bird unsettling.

  The path narrowed, snaking between groves of closely growing elders whose narrow trunks formed graceful, bending shapes like those of leaning dryads. The foliage stirred in the breeze and I felt suddenly cold. Someone was watching me; I sensed it. I glanced around but could see nobody. “Who’s there?” I called. There was no reply, only the whisper of the leaves and the cry of a bird passing overhead. My flesh rose in goose bumps. Our home was extremely well guarded; Father’s men-at-arms were expert. Besides, the forest protected its own. Nobody came in by stealth. If a member of our household was out there, why hadn’t anyone answered when I called?

  Something moved under a stand of massive oaks about a hundred paces from the track. I froze, eyes narrowed. Now nothing was stirring. I took three more steps along the path and halted again, my skin prickling with unease. Something was there. Not a deer or a wild pig—something else.

  I kept very still, peering into the shadowy depths under the trees, but I could see only patterns of light and shadow. Under the broad branches of the oaks vast distances seemed to open up, as if there existed doorways to a realm far wider than the expanses of the forest might allow. It was said, of course, that within the woods of Sevenwaters were portals of a very special kind: openings to the Otherworld. Traveling through such a doorway would be both wondrous and perilous, for time passed differently in that place. A man or woman might spend one night there and come back to find a hundred years had flown by in the human world. Or one might tarry for half a lifetime among the Fair Folk and return to one’s own world with less than a season gone. It was wisest not to stray into such corners of the forest unless one placed the desire for adventure above all else.

  Something caught my eye, not a movement, more of a . . . presence. Was that a man standing against the trunk of a great tree, a man wrapped in a hooded cape of shadow gray?

  “Who’s there?” I called. “Come out and account for yourself!”

  Even as I spoke it occurred to me that if anyone obeyed I was ill equipped to deal with the situation. I had no skills in combat and not so much as a vegetable knife on my person. I picked up my skirts and ran.

  For some time the only sound was the thud of my footsteps on the soft path. Or were there two sets of footsteps? I ran faster, and whoever was following me sped up to match. My breath was coming in gasps now, and behind me someone else was breathing too, in and out as he maintained steady pursuit. My heart jumped about in my chest; my skin was clammy with fear. The trees seemed to jerk and spin, and the spaces between them to widen as if inviting me to leave the path and stray at random. “I won’t have this,” I muttered to myself. “I just won’t.” It didn’t seem to help.

  A voice spoke right inside my mind. Clodagh! Clodagh, where are you? I tripped over a rock and sprawled full-length on the path, my head swimming with panic. A moment later I realized this had not been the taunt of a pursuer, but the familiar voice of my twin sister. I sat up, brushing the hair out of my eyes, and knew immediately that if someone—otherworldly presence or human miscreant—had been following me before, that person was now gone. The forest around me was peaceful. Birds sang. Leaves rustled in the slight breeze. The path led straight onward. Above the canopy of tall oaks the sun shone on a perfect spring day.

  I took several deep breaths before I answered. My skirt was badly torn and my right knee had a bloody graze. I screwed my eyes shut for a moment, willing what had just happened into a closed corner of my mind. It was a complication I could not deal with right now. I was simply too busy.

  Deirdre? I answered my sister’s call, using the skill possessed by the twins of our family, a link that allowed us to communicate silently, mind to mind. My father had this ability. His twin sister, Aunt Liadan, lived over the sea in Britain. The two of them had been able to share their thoughts and their news since childhood. What’s wrong? I asked my sister, making myself get up and limp toward home.

  My hair! I put chamomile in the water, and now it’s dried out looking like a furze bush! I can’t get married like this! Where are you, Clodagh? I need you!

  I reminded myself that my twin was leaving Sevenwaters tomorrow to embark on a completely new life in an unfamiliar home. It’ll be fine, Deirdre, I told her. I’m on my way back from the hawthorn. Don’t panic, we’ll think of something.

  I picked up my pace again. Soon the high roof of the stone keep where we lived could be seen in the distance above a soft shawl of trees. Our home was a stronghold built to keep out invaders. The uncanny forest that surrounded it and the broad lake that lapped at its feet were in themselves deterrents to armed assault. My father had established fortified settlements in strategic areas of the forest, each headed by a freeman with his own complement of men-at-arms. This was necessary, since Sevenwaters was situated right between the two warring factions of the Uí Néill clan.

  My mind went back to the figure I had half seen under the trees. Could a spy have succeeded in coming right into the forest unchecked? What could such a person hope to gain by that? I shivered, imagining myself abducted and held as a hostage, the price of my safe release Father’s agreement to relinquish control of his lands, or something even worse. Perhaps it was not a good idea to go for long walks on my own. People did get kidnapped. I could remember a terrible story about a girl who had been taken in that way. By the time her family had d
ecided to comply with the captors’ demands, she had been killed. The tale went that her severed head had been thrown back over the wall of her father’s house.

  My mind on this, I walked out from under the trees and straight into a big man in a gray cloak. A pair of strong hands gripped my shoulders hard. I screamed.

  The man let go abruptly. I stepped back, ready to bolt past him for the safety of home.

  “Ouch,” said someone in a lazy drawl, and I saw that there was a second man standing behind the first with his fingers in his ears. “That was loud. You’ve evidently lost your touch with the ladies, Aidan.”

  Aidan. I drew a shuddering breath and looked up, realizing that the man who had seized me had been the very one whose arrival at Sevenwaters I had been keenly awaiting since my cousin Johnny had sent word that he would be here for the wedding. I could think of better circumstances under which I might have met him.

  “Aidan!” I said, smiling awkwardly. “Welcome back! I was thinking about something else and you scared me. So Johnny’s arrived?” I’d been really foolish. All of Johnny’s men wore gray cloaks, the better to blend in with the hues of the forest. Both Aidan, whom I knew, and the other warrior, who was a stranger to me, wore them. Both had the facial markings, tattoos around the eye and nose suggestive of particular creatures—Aidan’s a lark, the other man’s a fox—that were worn as both mark of individuality and badge of brotherhood by every member of Johnny’s war band.

  “We got here not long ago,” Aidan said. He was regarding me quizzically, and I wondered if he had actually forgotten me since last spring, when he had come to Sevenwaters as part of my cousin’s escort and had seemed to take a particular interest in me. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything all right?”

  He was just as good-looking as I’d remembered: tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong-boned face, well-kept brown hair and friendly eyes. He was by far the most handsome of all Johnny’s men, I thought; at least, all of them whom I’d met. My cousin was a leader of elite warriors. He ran an establishment that offered training in all aspects of combat, and his personal guards were the best of the best. As my father’s heir, Johnny spent part of every year with us at Sevenwaters and always brought a complement of five or six guards with him. The other man was staring at me. I must answer Aidan’s question. I opened my mouth to do so, but the dark man spoke first.